


La primavera

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 00:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13399785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: A black eye (thanks to Stoichkov) and a bag of peas (from Pep's freezer).





	La primavera

**Author's Note:**

> So, this took me an embarrassing amount of time to cut down to 500 words.
> 
> Stoichkov really confessed to slapping Lucho in training on Univision (I'll find a link to the video later.). He really didn't like Lucho or trust him because of his past in Real Madrid, but thinks ["he's a (great) professional."](https://www.sport.es/es/noticias/barca/periodista-stoichkov-luis-enrique-tenia-mucho-carino-5101618)
> 
> [Title Song here,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LP9DgijDJJo) translates to "The spring" because budding relationship! (nothing else to do with the lyrics lol)
> 
> Set in 96/97, Lucho's first season. (Sir Bobby Robson's first season & the first season after Johan Cruyff)

“Stoichkov did this to you.”

 

“Ye— _Ow_. ”

 

There’s a sudden shock of cold on the hypersensitive skin of Lucho’s bruised eye. He tries to shrink away from the offending object, but Pep’s firm hand on his shoulder holds him in place, not that there’s much room to move in his seat in the first place.

 

“Don’t move,” Pep chastises, shifting the bag around in sharp, forceful movements. “You’re making it worse.”

 

Not in a position to argue, Lucho does his best to stay still, staring at a point beyond Pep’s shoulder, slightly uncomfortable about the whole ordeal now that most his anger has faded away. Up close, he can hear Pep mumbling to himself: _“Unbelievable”_ and _“The one day I decide to leave training on time”_ among other things.

 

Lucho huffs, acquiescing Pep’s order to “ _Hold this_ ,” staring at Pep’s retreating form while he walks to the freezer.

 

The bag feels a lot warmer in Lucho’s hand than it does on his face. Small pieces of ice melt and slide off the back of his fingers. “Are these peas?”  

 

“It was the first thing I saw.” Pep comes back with an ice cube tray and a cold compress bag. His brows are still furrowed, his expression teetering between concern and annoyance.   “Do I—” he grunts, cracking the ice out of the tray. “Do I even want to know what happened?”

 

Lucho stays silent while Pep switches the peas for the compress.

 

“Thought so.” Pep ignores Lucho’s instinctive flinch at the change in temperature, squeezing his shoulder in a painful grip with his free hand, though this time, moving the compress gently, aware of the ice’s prominent corners. “You deserved it.”

 

“You don’t know that.” Lucho looks up at Pep, ignoring Pep’s snort and skeptical quirk of his eyebrow. “What, you win a Champions League with the guy and you have to take his side in every argument?” That wasn’t the reason, but there was something there in the way that both Pep and Hristo looked at the manager with certain apprehension. “We won an Olympic Gold medal together, you know.”

 

“Yes.” Up close, Lucho can see the slight twist of Pep’s lips and hear the dry amusement in his tone. “I know,” he says, punctuating his statement by grabbing Lucho’s hand and placing it on the compress instead of asking him to hold it. “Next time go to Iván’s house,” Pep muses, still holding Lucho’s hand while he guides the compress into a position he’s satisfied with. His other hand drifts to Lucho’s neck, making him shiver at the touch; his fingertips are cold. “Or Figo’s.” Pep lingers for a few moments before clearing his throat and dropping his hand.

 

“You’re nicer,” Lucho confesses, discretely trying to flex his fingers.

 

Pep gives Lucho a surprised look, making Lucho grin. “You know it’s true.” Lucho’s too distracted by Pep picking up the warm bag of peas to notice the faint flush high on his cheeks.

 

“What're you doing?”

 

“Dinner, of course.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Starting the New Year off right with the OTP of OTPs. My New Year's Resolution was to write more popular couples, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I guess we'll get to that.
> 
> Prequel/spiritual companion (sort of) to my other work featuring these two, "Me falta el aliento."


End file.
